


Model

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Sterek A-Z Challenge [13]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, Run Derek run, Sheriff contemplates target practice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “What the hell is going on in here?!”Stiles’ screaming stopped abruptly and he twisted to look over his shoulder. Derek had frozen, one hand half down Stiles’ sweats, the other pinning his wrists to his pillow.Both of them stared at the sheriff, who looked crossed between horrified and furious.





	Model

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

“Stiles!”

Said individual jerked upright in bed, hair matted down on one side and drool caked along his cheek. The sun was shining brightly through his bedroom window, and for one, crazy moment, he thought he was late for school.

But that couldn’t be right, because it was summer. Summer meant sleeping in. It meant staying out too late. It meant not being jerked awake like he was late for class.

Turning bleary eyes to who had woken him from his slumber, he stared noncomprehendingly up at Lydia. She was looking at him like he’d personally offended her and it occurred to him that, with the state he was currently in, she probably _did_  feel personally offended.

“Lyds,” he said around a yawn, rubbing at his eyes. “Whazzamatta?”

“Was that even English?” she asked with a scoff, flipping some red hair over her shoulder and grabbing his desk chair before taking a seat. “I just came back from New York.”

“Mm hm,” Stiles said, still mostly asleep. Why she was coming over to let him know she’d just returned from New York was beyond him, but he was too tired to argue. He’d stayed up way too late looking up No Faces with Derek last night.

_Derek_  was sleeping in right now. Stiles felt tempted to call him and wake him up, just so he suffered the same fate. How was this fair? Stiles was a nice guy, he did favours for people, why did God punish him with lack of sleep?

Was it the swearing? It had to be the swearing.

“Stiles!”

He realized he’d somehow fallen asleep again while he’d been thinking about Derek. Not an uncommon occurrence, he often fell asleep thinking about Derek. Or sleep was preceded by thoughts of Derek. Usually followed by a change of sweats and a quick trip to the bathroom.

But not something he should be thinking about while Lydia Martin sat in his room, looking increasingly more annoyed by the second. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes, trying to wake himself up a little bit more.

“You just came back from New York. How was it?” he asked. He didn’t really want to, but she was annoyed and he had to placate her _somehow_.

“Good. Weather was nice. But, not why I’m here. I brought you a present.” She bent down and pulled something out of her purse. It was wrapped in brown paper and looked like a book, but an extremely thin one. “You know I love you, right Stiles? You know that, were this anyone else, I wouldn’t share this. The only reason I’m doing this is because you’re my friend.”

“I am?” Stiles asked, which earned him an annoyed look. He just grinned. “You said you love me.”

“I can take the present back, you know,” she said dryly. “I haven’t given it to you yet, and believe me, once I do, you’ll want to keep it.”

“Oh really?” he asked with a grin, shifting in bed so he was sitting cross-legged and rearranging the T-shirt he slept in so it wasn’t twisted around him. “What is it? Something dirty?” He winked at her and she gave him a disgusted look.

“Don’t test our friendship, Stilinski.” She sighed and started to hold it out to him before pausing. “Once I give this to you, we never speak of it again. You don’t tell anyone how you came about it, my name never comes up. Deal?”

Stiles frowned. “Deal,” he said slowly, wondering what this was about.

Nodding to herself, she held out the present. Once he took it, she stood and picked up her purse. “Well, I’m going to head home to unpack. I’ll see you later. And remember, that,” she motioned what he held, “didn’t come from me.”

And just like that, she was gone. She’d woken him up from sleep to give him a present he couldn’t even tell people she’d given him. It was like she wanted to keep the fact that they were even friends a secret. Which was stupid, because everyone knew they were. They were both pack, they couldn’t _not_  be friends.

He tossed the book onto his nightstand and fell back down, rolling onto his side and yanking the covers up over his head so he could get back to sleep. He lasted exactly five seconds before he threw them back off and rolled over, grabbing the book and sitting up. He tore through the paper quickly, getting it off and frowned while staring down at what he held.

It was a magazine, and it looked to be a few years old. He didn’t know what possible use he could have with a magazine, or why Lydia thought it was present-worthy, but he began flipping through it idly.

It was old enough to be advertising movies that had been out years ago, and he was still trying to figure out why he had this when he turned another page and froze, staring down at the glossy paper of the magazine.

Derek.

Derek was in the magazine.

In his underwear.

Derek was in the magazine in his underwear.

Stiles was sure he was crazy, and hallucinating, but the longer he stared, the more real this became. Derek Hale had been an underwear model while living in New York.

Everything about him looked just as delicious then as it did now. Every line of muscle, his bright eyes, dark skin, those _lips_. Fuck!

He had less hair on him, which made sense considering he was only nineteen when he’d returned to Beacon Hills, so he couldn’t have been older than eighteen in the photo. He definitely looked better with stubble, but he still looked enjoyable in the photo.

It suddenly occurred to Stiles why Lydia had said not to tell anyone she’d been the one to find this, because Stiles was obviously going to tell Derek he knew his secret, and Lydia didn’t want to be caught in the middle of that.

Stiles was still staring at the picture in awe, glad that he was wearing sweats that could accommodate the stirring of his nether regions, when he heard a thump and looked up.

Derek was staring at him wide-eyed, gaze locked on what Stiles was holding in his hands.

Before the Werewolf could react, Stiles hastily shoved the magazine down the back of his pants and cocooned himself in his blankets.

“Where did you get that?!” Derek snarled, leaping onto the bed and trying to wrench the blankets out from around Stiles. “Give it to me! Now!”

“You can’t have it! It’s mine! I got it fair and square!” Stiles insisted, fighting to keep himself covered. He heard a ripping sound and severely hoped his blankets would survive the scuffle.

“Give it to me!”

“No!”

“Stiles!”

“No!”

The blankets were wrenched off him and Stiles batted his hands pathetically in Derek’s face, struggling to fight him off. He knew it was useless. They may have been almost the same height, but Derek had a hundred pounds on him and, oh yeah, he was a Werewolf.

It took him no time to get Stiles onto his stomach, pinning his hands at the wrists above his head and wrenched at his sweats to get them down far enough so he could grab the magazine. Stiles screamed bloody murder the entire time.

“What the hell is going on in here?!”

Stiles’ screaming stopped abruptly and he twisted to look over his shoulder. Derek had frozen, one hand half down Stiles’ sweats, the other pinning his wrists to his pillow.

Both of them stared at the sheriff, who looked crossed between horrified and furious.

“Dad.” Stiles suddenly realized what this looked like and paled, seeing his father’s fingers twitching near his gun. “This isn’t what it looks like! It isn’t what it looks like, I promise!”

“Get off of my son,” the sheriff said in a low, dangerous voice. “Right now, Derek.”

Moving slowly, Derek’s hands left Stiles’ body and he straightened, taking a cautious step away from the bed while Stiles twisted onto his back and reached into his sweats.

“Dad! Dad, it’s nothing! He was just trying to get this, I swear!” Stiles pulled the magazine out from his pants and held it up.

A second later, it was gone and he turned to find Derek scrambling through his bedroom window, magazine clutched tightly in his hands. The sheriff hurried towards it, looking out at the fleeing Werewolf, eyes blazing. It looked like he was debating target practice.

“Dad, it was a misunderstanding! I swear, he was just—it was a magazine! It’s not what it looked like!” He wished, but what he was wishing could wait for when his father didn’t look ready to murder Derek.

The sheriff rounded on him, pointing one finger at him, other hand resting on his gun. “We’re putting Mountain Ash at this window. No more Werewolves sneaking into your room again.”

“Wha—dad! Dad!” he insisted while the older man stormed back to the bedroom door and slammed it behind him.

Stiles sat in bed, staring at the door, wondering what the fuck kind of day he’d just had. And, according to the time on his phone, he’d barely been awake for even half an hour of it.

Letting out a groan, Stiles fell back onto his bed and rolled over, covering his head with his pillow. Maybe if he went back to sleep, he could pretend this day hadn’t happened.

Well, not _all_  of it. He was definitely gonna look up that underwear company later. He could do with some new fapping material.

**END.**


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